


The Story

by pennywritesthings (orphan_account)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:17:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9546506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/pennywritesthings
Summary: The story of you and Ryan.Tumblr Anon said: pls do some ryan/reader angst!!!!





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the saddest fic I've ever written, but also my favorite fic I've ever written, so strap in.

He walked alone in the field that led to the forest. The forest where you two had first met.

You were far too good for him. Too innocent. Too pure. You wore a white dress that day, when he first saw you in the forest. A simple white dress that flowed gently a little past your knees. You weren’t wearing any shoes, and at first he thought you were lost. That was, until he came closer.

You were singing. Nothing in particular, just a gentle melody that had no words that painted a picture of beauty. You didn’t notice him for a while. Or if you did, you didn’t acknowledge him. He never could figure out which.

You leaned down and gently plucked a purple flower out of the ground, and that’s when he first looked into your eyes, and you looked into his. Wordlessly, you walked – or were you floating? – over to him and offered him the flower. Although he was struck speechless, he still took the flower from your outstretched hands.

He had no idea why you were still standing so close to him. He couldn’t have looked even remotely safe. And that was human nature, right? To keep oneself safe and alive. And you were a woman, alone in the woods in a world that simply didn’t allow for goodness like you. He was standing tall, taller than you by far, with a handgun visible in one pocket, a black piece of fabric that you later learned was a skull mask, and black makeup smeared under his eyes. He looked like a killer, and rightly so.

He was a killer, and quite possibly the most dangerous one out there. The world thought him a sociopath. They thought he killed for sport, and that he couldn’t care less about the havoc he wrought the moment he stepped near anybody that wasn’t his crew. And it was true.

But there was something about you. Something in you made him stop and stare. Eventually, you smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, but that didn’t discourage you. You told him your name. He still didn’t respond. You looked to the flower in his hand. He was holding it gently by the stem, being careful not to disturb the silky purple petals or the lush green leaf that sat near it.

Eventually he spoke. He questioned why you were still near him. Didn’t he look scary? Dangerous? He could kill you, and nobody was around to hear.

You simply shrugged in response, and replied that you trusted him.

And that, he supposed, was what brought him back to you. Every day – if he could, he certainly was a busy man after all, and he still had a reputation to upkeep – he would go to that same spot in the woods. Every day you would offer him a flower, and every day you would tell him more about yourself and he would tell you about himself in return.

He would tell you about himself, the real James Ryan Haywood. You were fascinated to say the least. Positively enthralled with the man in front of you. You would later tell him that with every visit, you fell more in love with him. He would always shake his head with that small smile of his and kiss the side of your head, saying that the feeling was more than reciprocated.

However, much like there were two sides to every story, there were two sides to Ryan Haywood. The other side of him, the Mad King, the masked killer, the dangerous gang member of the Fake AH Crew was a part of him that he rarely talked about in his visits.

You knew, of course. The days when he couldn’t make his way to the clearing in the woods were the days where you knew he was adopting his other persona. But in the end, he would always find his way to you, makeup scrubbed clean from his face and not a drop of blood or evidence on his clothes to give away what he had been doing. You were still never afraid. You still trusted him.

There were even days that you had led him, his large, calloused hand in your small and smooth one, to the cabin you lived in. Those were the days where he would gently cup your face in his hands and he would kiss you until the sun went down.

He loved you. You loved him. Somehow, that was all that mattered.

For years, you and Ryan were together this way. He still had his crew, and you knew he always would. You didn’t care as long as he came back to you in the end. And he always did. The little silver ring with purple – the same purple as the flowers you still gave to him – stones that he had crafted himself that sat on your ring finger was proof that he would always come back to you.

The only problem was that while Ryan himself would never hurt you, his lifestyle, people seeking to hurt him would.

And so one day while Ryan was away with his Crew, somebody in a rival gang snuck into your cabin and shot you in the chest.

There was nothing about you that Ryan would ever forget. This included the paleness of your body when he found you, and the blood that had bloomed on your chest and stained the otherwise clean white dress you were wearing. In your hand was another purple flower.

No man has ever bared witness to the great Mad King in tears. The Mad King never cried. Such weakness was beneath him. No, the Mad King never cried, but James Ryan Haywood did. For almost a whole day, he held your body in his arms and cried.

He dug your grave alone that night, with only the moon and stars to keep him company.

Looking back on it, a year later, walking to that same clearing in the woods where you would greet him with a purple flower, he still remembered every second. He never wanted to forget, truthfully.

He made his way back to your resting place silently. It seemed that even the animals were quiet this day, the anniversary of your death. Nature was mourning you just like he was.

He stopped in front of the large stone that had your name etched on it and wordlessly placed a bundle of the purple flowers on to your grave.

He wasn’t as sad as one might think he would be. He wasn’t happy either, but more… wistful. Or maybe that wasn’t the word. Ryan was never good at finding the correct words. That’s why he rarely spoke at the site of your final resting place.

He had a lot of time to think about life with and without you. And he came to the conclusion that life with you wasn’t over just because you were gone. He knew that what he had with you was something more special than can be described with any one word. There was no way that the universe was going to let the short few years he had with you be the only time he had with you.

He would find you again. In another life, where he was hopefully a better man. Where he wouldn’t have a life that would hurt you. He would always wait for you, and he would always find you. After all, you were his destiny.


End file.
